So Long as You Remember Me in the Morning
by Da Sprace Goils
Summary: The first time they met it was at a party. Both drunk, one heartbroken, the other lonely: meaningless, drunken sex seemed to be the way to go. Neither expected a connection to form. And Mel really didn't expect to fall in love, but what's a girl to do?


Chapter One

The first time I saw him, it was at a party. The biggest party of the year. Odd, I suppose, since neither of us were exactly party people, but at the same time, oddly... fitting.

"Darling, no way. As your best friend, I am morally obligated to inform you that that outfit is a no-no."

I nodded, "Consider me informed," I said lazily, "Now let's go."

My best friend in the entire world, Maura, grabbed my arm, "I'm also obligated to make sure you leave for the hottest part of the year looking totally sexy."

Little alarm bells began to go off in my head, "Maure..." I warned, slowly backing away.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Maura grabbed my arm and began to drag me back to the closet of our dorm room.

Ten minutes of painful primping later, she pronounced me ready to go. Gone were my comfy jeans, and favorite plaid shirt. Gone was my preferred hairstyle of braided pigtails (Maure said it made my look like a country bumpkin. I told her its okay because I _am_ a country bumpkin, with the accent to prove it, but she just laughed), and my freckles were covered by about a pound of makeup.

I looked nothing like myself. I looked fake, I looked stupid, I looked... kind of hot. I told Maura this, and she laughed, "I told you so," she laughed, hugging me tightly, "I told you so!"

"I still don't like it..."

"That's right," she said, with a self-assured smirk, "You love it."

I sighed, but let it go. There's no arguing with that one.

Parties have never really been my thing, but I can't help but let my friends drag me to three or four of them a year. This party, thrown annually by someone who I'd never met, and probably never would, who had probably graduated five years ago, was the same party they'd dragged me to the year before. And the year before that, and the year before that, every year since we'd been sophomores in high school, when I'd first moved out to New York. It was no different as a college student than it had been as a high school student. Drunken couples and friends, throwing up, making out, and doing many other things that I didn't even want to _think_ about.

I usually avoided alcohol. I'd seen what fools my friends made out of themselves after just a handful of drinks, and had no desire to do the same, so I normally stuck to one, maybe two, during the night.

That was one of the many reasons why my boyfriend of over a year had dumped me the week before. One of them, but by no means the only one. He was sick of me never drinking or really "partying". He was tired of my lecturing him about smoking (but it was just because I cared about him...). He was tired of studying on our 'study dates'. But mostly, he was tired of waiting for me to 'be ready' to sleep with him.

It took five minutes for me to down my first drink, which was twice as strong as anything I'd ever normally have.

I stood alone for the most part. My friends had disappeared with their boyfriends, mingling on the dance floor. A hundred hot and sweaty bodies grinding together. Disgusting.

I grimaced at the taste of... what ever it was I was drinking. Disgusting. I downed the rest of it in a gulp, and leaned against the wall. Why had I let my idiot "friends" drag me here again?

"Did your friends ditch you too?"

I turned to see who was talking. He was taller than me, not that that was hard, with soft brown hair, soft brown eyes, and somewhat pale skin. I'd only had two drinks, and I was already buzzed. What ever I was drinking was stronger than what I was used to. He looked a little buzzed as well. More than a little in fact.

"Yeah," I said, "They suck. I mean they're the ones who dragged me here!" I sighed. "Parties aren't really my thing."

"Mine neither," he agreed, taking a swig out of his beer bottle, "I'm only here because my friend Pie-Eater insisted..."

"Pie-Eater...?" I asked.

"Well its only a nickname," the stranger boy amended, "But everyone calls him it."

Right. Of course it was a nickname. I looked down at my empty glass, and took another sip. There was scarcely a drop left, but after than pointless sip there wasn't even that.

"What are you drinking?" the boy asked.

_Right. I must have looked like an idiot trying to take a sip out of an empty glass_, I thought.

"I was just about to go get another," I mumbled, partly because I wasn't anywhere near as drunk as I'd have to be more than drunk to forget about that jerk Jeremy, and partly as an excuse to get away from this stranger who I'd just looked like a total fool in front of.

"Hey wait," he reached out and grabbed my arm as I started to leave. I turned to face him. "I asked you because I wanted to know if I could get you another one, not to give you an excuse to leave." He looked amused.

"Oh," I said, blushing again. "I-I'm not really sure," I admitted, embarrassed, "I sort of just asked the guy at the bar to give me something fruity and strong..."

The stranger looked concerned for a moment, then reached out and took my glass, "I'll get you something else... I think you'll like it. I'll be right back, so don't move," he smiled.

I'm not sure why I didn't move. He was acting a little bit desperate-maybe he'd just broken up with his girlfriend or something-which I didn't generally find particularly attractive, but he was cute. Really cute.

Maybe I should describe him.

He had brown hair, that was just a little bit curly, but not really, and incredible hazel eyes, that crinkled a little around the edges when he smiled, and lit up when he was happy. He was kind of small for a boy, only 5"5, but that still put him a good four inches taller than I was, so I didn't mind. Jeremy had been pretty small too.

Basically, the stranger-boy was attractive, and totally my type. Which, I guess, is why I stayed put. Worst comes to worst, some harmless flirting would help me forget about Jeremy.

When the boy came back, handing me a red drink that tasted vaguely of apples, and strongly of alcohol, but, despite that, was very good anyways, he found me staring in vague disgust at the couple making out across the room. He followed my gaze. "What's wrong?" stranger-boy asked me suspiciously.

I tore my eyes away from the two boys playing tongue war, "How can people do that?" I asked, "it's disgusting!"

His eyes darkened, "You got a problem with gay people?"

Now, I'd like to take a moment to make it absolutely clear that, no. I do not have a problem with gay people. I never have, and I never will. Why, you might ask? Well it probably has something to do with my town, where it's considered almost... normal. My own twin came out with no problems when we were in 7th grade. He and his boyfriend, Stevie, are sickeningly adorable. So, it wasn't that particular couple I had a problem with, it was the PDA. I do not enjoy watching other people make out. I never have and I never will. No one wants to see that, so why do it where everyone will see it?

I explain this now, because I can't remember exactly what I said to the boy to convince him it was the making out, and not who was doing the making out, that bothered me. I know that I'd finished my third drink by the time I'd finished explaining, and I remember that he went to get me another drink, but after three, I was a bit more than a little tipsy. I know, I'm a lightweight.

My fourth, and his... I don't even know... were downed during conversation. My fifth was chugged at the bar, when he dared me. My sixth was half drunk, and half spilled in the hallway as we stumbled into a bedroom.

I swear, neither of us entered the bedroom with the intentions of doing anything other than talking.

I know, with at least 6 drinks apiece, and it being a wild party, and us being in an empty bedroom, that seems unlikely, but it's the truth. The music had been to loud for him, and the number of couples making out instead of actually partying had been starting to get to me. So we figured we'd go elsewhere and just talk...

And we did talk. He left briefly, and came back with two more drinks, and we sipped at them casually as we talked about... things. Don't ask me to remember what those things were, I was drunk to the point where I could only barely remember my own name.

I don't know who leaned in first. All that I knew was that one second he was saying my name, in the giggly drunk way that only a drunken college student could ("Melony... Meeeeeeeel Meeeeeeelony Melonyyyyy...") and the next second he was kissing me in a way that I'd never quite been kissed before.

Not that I had much experience in the kissing area. I'd only had three boyfriends. One in 8th grade, a timid boy who was almost too shy to hold my hand, let alone even think about kissing me, who'd lasted two weeks before we'd broken up, which was quite a feat for two middle schoolers. One my junior year of high school, with one of the second-string football players, who was very handsome, but kissed rather like a dog, slobbering more than kissing, who I'd dated for a month. And Jeremy. Artsy Jeremy, who was three inches taller than me, with a thin pale face, dark blue eyes, and who kissed me possessively, as if he was reminding me who I belonged to, and who had just broken up with me the week before after 7 months together.

The stranger boy (for he had never gotten around to telling me his name for some reason, that I suppose made more sense to two drunk college students than it would to anyone else) kissed me gently. He was almost shy at first, but when I responded, a little bit more confidently. He didn't try to dominate me. He wasn't fierce, or controlling. It was more like we were... playing...

Before I knew it, our shirts were strewn across the floor, and he had me out of my skirt, while I was working on his pants.

I know, I was a hypocrite. I'd just been dumped by my boyfriend for not sleeping with him, and there I was about to do it with some random guy whose name I didn't even know. When I was drunk, it seemed like a good idea. I mean, stranger boy was nice to me, so why not?

A lot of things seem like a good idea when you're drunk.

Even drunk, the boy was nicer about it than Jeremy would have been sober, though I wasn't sure how drunk he actually was. He was hardly slurring his words any more, and acting more sober than drunk at the moment. He paused, suddenly pale, once we were both completely stripped of our clothes, "Have you ever done this before?" he breathed.

I hesitated, then wrapped my arms around him and kissed him, "No..." I murmured, "Have you...?"

He turned a deep crimson red, and, looking almost ashamed, nodded.

In my drunken state, I didn't really care. I kissed him again, and then wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him down.

It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was so incredibly painful at first, and he kept muttering "sorry, sorry," under his breath, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Then it flipped. No longer painful, it was, perhaps, the most wonderful thing I had ever experienced. I'd never felt so connected to someone before, and it felt like every movement brought me closer to him. "Mel," he murmured, with more affection than anyone outside of my family ever had before, and then it was over for the both of us.

For several long moments, we lay there in bed, next to each other. He was turned away from me, and I from him, but our hands were loosely intertwined between us.

Then, quite suddenly, he pulled away, and stood up. My heart sank. I was feeling much more sober now than I had before the sex, and I was beginning to realize this might not have been the best idea.

I watched silently as he pulled in his boxers, then his pants. He turned and saw me watching, and turned bright red. He looked around the room, and grabbed my bra and underwear, nervously handing them to me. I hesitantly slid out from under the covers of the bed, and put them on. I wondered if he was watching me, as I had watched him, but was too shy, too nervous to check. I looked around for my other clothes. When I couldn't find them, I turned helplessly back towards him. He was, still blushing furiously, holding out his dark gray t-shirt to me. I slowly accepted it, staring at him.

"Y-your shirt," he mumbled, "got a little... ripped..."

Now that I had a moment to think, I could vaguely remember us having a bit of trouble getting my shirt off. And being two drunken young adults, we hadn't had much patience with it.

"Oh," I said softly, then put his shirt on. It hung loose on my small frame, the edge falling to my midthigh. I bit my lip, "I'm sure my shirt isn't... too bad," I said nervously, "I mean, so you can have your shirt back later if... when you need to go I mean."

"No," the boy shook his hair out of his face, "It looks cuter on you anyways."

He lay back down on the bed, and yawned. Already his eyes were starting to flutter shut. I smiled a little, then climbed back into bed with him. It was only when I was drifting to sleep, with his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders, that I realized I still hadn't gotten his name.

**Author's Note**

**Um, well hi there! *waves awkwardly* This is C... and welcome to the new story! *hears crickets chirping in the distance***

**Ok then. Well, this is a story, that I'm writing with S, who's going to help me edit (I'm really bad at that) and help me think of ideas! It just sort of popped into my head... It's really related to our other story Welcome to Tibby's, which I highly recommend you check out! You don't need to read either story to understand the other, but there are some references later in this story that will make more sense if you read Tibby's. =]**

**WARNING: This **_**is**_** an OC-centric fic. It will be told entirely from Mel's POV, and I will try my damnedest to make sure she doesn't turn into a Mary-Sue. If you feel she is at all Sue-ish PLEASE alert me immediately. It WILL take a couple more chapters before our Newsies boys come in again (anyone care to guess which Newsies were mentioned in this one?), so I hope you'll be patient with me. The next two, maybe three, chapters are simply helping to set up the main plot. DO NOT WORRY: once that happens it will feature the boys heavily for the rest of the fic.**


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